


wish we could turn back time, to the good ol' days

by deadbody



Category: Power Rangers (2017)
Genre: Angst, Fast & Furious montage, M/M, Underage Drinking, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 14:59:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11164299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadbody/pseuds/deadbody
Summary: Sam Scott has this perfect plan for his son's future. He can already see him playing football professionally. The only thing he doesn't see, is that Jason doesn't want any of it.





	wish we could turn back time, to the good ol' days

**Author's Note:**

> a character study fic exploring the events pre - movie, everything that led to the prank at the beginning, and the spiraling out of control that eventually landed Jason in detention, with a small side of gay.
> 
> title from twenty one pilot's stressed out.

Everything starts falling apart on a Friday night.

His team is euphoric, voices rising in pitch like a wave, louder inside the locker room than they were outside. It’s just the first game of the season but they tore apart their opponent with an overwhelming number — they are on top of the world. Jason Scott, Angel Grove’s golden boy, guided them to victory with relentless determination. Of course, one victory doesn’t secure the entire season, but the team takes it as a sign of good things to come. They’re high on the win, unable to see even the possibility of defeat.

The locker room empties out eventually but Jason stays behind at the request of the coach. It’s not the first time it’s happened, and usually they address team performance and ways to improve. This time, it’s a little more personal. The door to the small office closes. Jason’s tired, he wants to go home and go sleep, and he’s sure it shows on his face, despite the attempt at pretending otherwise.

“I know we’ve never discussed this before, but have you considered the possibility of pursuing football professionally in your future?”

What?

The question throws him off for a moment, but he knows the answer. No. Never. He’s always played something or other; baseball as a kid, basketball one time during summer camp, and then football as soon as he started high school — but professional anything is a different story. Professional sports are ..  well, serious. They’re the real deal. Jason plays because he’s good at it, and it’s fun.

( It kind of stops being fun after that. )

“Listen Jason, you’re good. I’ve never seen anyone as good as you in this school before. I think, if you put the time and dedication to it, you could make it big, but you have to start now.”

He’s wide awake now, but nothing makes sense. His mouth feels dry, his heart beats too fast, echoing loudly between his ears. The rush of blood leaves him dizzy. He puts his hands on top of the chair in front of the desk and leans his weight into it, as if it was the only thing that could keep him upright.

Part of him thinks he should be excited. Hearing about how proficient he is in the field has always made him feel good about himself — accomplished. But he feels terrified of the implication that seems to have now. The thing is, it’s not the first time he’s heard it; his dad often says he’s good enough for the NFL, and Jason always laughs it off. He’s not, he really isn’t. He likes the spirit of competition and the adrenaline from scoring, the exhilaration of it all. That’s it. It could be anything else really. He could be good with car engines but that doesn’t mean he’d want to be a mechanic.

But his coach talking about it makes it more real than anything his dad’s ever said to him before. Grounds him into it. There’s a light at the end of the tunnel and Jason suddenly doesn’t like the road he’s on anymore.

“All the big players started small, like you. In high school.”

He’s yet to say anything.

The talk goes downhill from there, at least for him. Coach is putting him on a new workout program, full of new exercises and drills, and he wants to call his parents to see if they can get a nutriologist for him.

Jason leaves the office feeling cold and numb.

* * *

In the morning his dad congratulates him on the win. He still smells of fresh fish, which means he just got home. Jason’s too used to the smell of it, it doesn’t make him gag anymore — hasn’t in years. A hand lands heavily on his back, right between his shoulder blades and Jason wishes it didn’t feel so loaded.

“First one of many. I have a feeling it’s gonna be a good season. You pumped for it?”

“Uh—” he stammers, hand still around the coffee pot. His smile is paper thin, gone just as quickly as it appears. “Yeah. Yeah. It, uhm, it’s gonna be great.”

He has the distinct feeling nothing about it will be great.

* * *

Angel Grove High wins again.

The team celebrates by throwing a huge party at Michael Brett’s house. His parents are out of town and he has a pool. Half the school spills into his backyard and the inside of the house. The music is loud enough to be heard even outside on the streets. Red solo cups decorate every flat surface.

“And then, then — oh man, you should’ve seen his face!” Adam laughs obnoxiously, arms flailing as he drapes himself over Peter, who appears to be equally drunk.

Peter frowns when his beer spills a little, pushing Adam away. “Dude!”

Jason doesn’t laugh but he smiles behind his cup.

Another win for his team.

Lance yells by the pool and cannonballs into it, splashing a good size of people standing nearby. Keith and Bobby soon join him, jumping into the water, dropping their beer cups on the ground. The liquid spills but no one seems bothered by it. The loud complaints mostly come from the water getting splashed around. A girl shrieks because her dress got wet. She drags her friend away from the edge of the pool.

Jason excuses himself to go refill his cup.

“Hey, hey! Bring back a bottle!”

It’s louder inside than outside. From the kitchen he can see the living room; kids dancing close to each other, some talking, but mostly just couples grinding together. Ty stands in one corner, arms close around the head cheerleader. They’re been flirting for a while but everyone knows Kimberly Hart is a hard girl to impress. Ty must be doing something right.

A couple of cheerleaders hover nearby, as if waiting for orders from their queen bee.

It all looks so .. cliché.

Typical high school party with typical high school popular kids. Anyone who’s anyone is there; either dancing or talking or wet in the pool or just getting wasted.

In a few years, none of it will matter.

Jason is sixteen, soon to turn seventeen, and in the last three weeks he’s heard non-stop talk about his future from both his parents and his football coach. Partying was a distraction he needed to cut back on. He shouldn’t even be drinking — especially because he plans to drive home — but the only time he doesn’t get to hear about the future is when he’s out with friends. So, fuck it. Besides, they’re celebrating. He looks down to the table of drinks. Bottles of all colors and cups still full of beer. He grabs the nearest cup, chugs it like water — _not beer_ , his brain screams as it drowns. His throat burns, he coughs. It leaves a weird aftertaste in his mouth, bitter and dry.

The kitchen blurs for a second. Fingers wrap around a bottle of vodka and when he turns, he nearly smacks into someone.

“Whoa, dude, careful.”

Hands on his shoulders. Jason blinks hard against the swirl of colors, closes his eyes for a second. Nausea threatens his body, making his stomach twist hard. He swallows thickly, tries to count to ten.

Exhales slowly.

“You okay?”

“Y-yeah, shit. S’rry, didn’t see you.”

Oh man. The guy doesn’t look familiar, at all, but Jason saw a few people from Montgomery High so for all he knows, the kid could be from either school. Good-looking, for sure. Dark hair, dark eyes. Sharp cheekbones. Tall, dark and handsome in a neat package. He looks amused.

“You don’t look okay.” A glance at the table behind, then at the bottle on Jason’s hand. “How much have you drank?”

_Not enough_ , Jason almost says.

“S’rry, who’re you?” Blue eyes squint at him, but he comes up with a blank. He might’ve seen him before. Maybe not. He looks like a Taylor or a Parker or a Matt. Something short but strong.

The guy laughs and grabs the bottle Jason’s holding. The quarterback blinks stupidly, gaze down at his now empty hand before he looks up again. “I’ll do you a solid. You shouldn’t drink this anyway. Thanks, man.” There’s a pat on his shoulder and then the guy walks away, bottle in hand.

_Thief_ , he thinks. His shoulder feels warm where the guy touched him.

“What t’fu — ”

“Jason!”

“What?”

Hawkeye appears from the left, leaning against the wall. “Dude, what’s taking so long?”

“What?”

“The bottle, Jay! Dude, you’re so wasted.” He laughs, it makes Jason squint again, a little offended at the accusation. Except — he’s right. God, he feels out of it. Sluggish. Tired.

“Right, yeah. Got it!” He grabs another bottle, closest to him. Something with a blue label. “See, ‘m not that drunk.”

Hawkeye laughs at him again. “Dude, you so are.” He throws his arm around Jason when he’s close enough, dragging the blond back outside.

Jason doesn’t see tall, dark and handsome again. By the time he’s taken a swig of the bottle — bitter, burning, utterly disgusting — he’s already forgotten about him.

This time, when Adam makes another joke, he laughs almost as loud as the rest of them.

* * *

He wakes up with a headache threatening to split his skull open, right down the middle, cracking it like one would a coconut. The sun is blinding; he groans, rolling in bed and burying his head under the pillow. He doesn’t know how he got home, can’t remember much about last night, but at least ( he’s like sixty percent sure ) he had a good time at the party.

It takes him almost an hour to get out of bed, and then another hour to shower and get dressed before he makes it downstairs. The mere idea of food makes him nauseous but coffee sounds good. Maybe he’ll feel more like himself after a few cups of it. He regrets it as soon as he sees his dad sitting on the kitchen table. He’s got a look on his face Jason hasn’t seen in awhile, the ‘ _you are in so much trouble, mister_ ’ stare that makes him want to turn around and run for the hills. “Sit.”

So much for coffee then.

Patience stretches thin. The pulsating behind his eyes increases in intensity, the pain worsening; a hundred tiny hammers all hitting the inside of his skull at the same time. He just wants some coffee, a few aspirins and his bed. He didn’t expect a lecture as soon as he got downstairs, isn’t really sure what it’ll be about but he can take a guess.

“What the Hell is wrong with you?” No name, no nickname, nothing. His dad looks furious and headache or not, Jason suddenly feels like he’s walking on extremely thin ice. “Do you have any idea what you did last night? For God’s sake, Jason! You’re sixteen. You have practice this afternoon!”

He tries to swallow past the knot in his throat but can’t.

“You threw up on the foyer when you got home.” Jason flinches. Sam Scott gives him no pity. “At three AM. You made so much noise it’s a miracle you didn’t wake up the whole damn neighborhood.” His voice just gets louder with each word. It drives nails into Jason’s already tortured head. He has a feeling he got a lecture last night too, but he can’t remember a word of it. It might be part of why his dad looks so mad, because he’s repeating himself, word for word, from the outburst that already happened. “And where the Hell is your car?”

So, he didn’t drive home? At least he was smart enough to not do that, but he has no idea how he got back. Or where his car is. He’s heard of blackouts before, but he didn’t think he’d experienced one so early in his life.

“At Mike’s place, dad.” He thinks. He hopes.

“You don’t think, do you? You’re not gonna be a teenager forever, Jason. You have to stop screwing around, wasting your time. Start thinking about your future. What are you going to do when you grow up. What you have to do to get there. Focus on the important things, on football. You want to piss away your life in this small town forever? You have a real shot at getting out of here, doing something good, making a name for yourself.”

Not school. Football.

He feels like throwing up.

It’s a rehashed lecture that always ends the same. His school’s counselor keeps reminding him that junior and senior years are the most important when it comes to grades. He’s in a few AP classes by choice, but balancing the schoolwork with football can be challenging at times. It’d be easier if he dropped those classes, go back to easier ones — his dad’s told him to do that before, it’s still early in the school year to do it. But he hasn’t done it. He’s pretty sure he won’t. Like decreasing the difficulty in a game from hard to normal, it feels like cheating.

( He can handle school just fine. He just wishes his dad believed it too. )

“Dad — ”

“You’re grounded.”

“Wait, what? Why?”

“Why? Is this a joke to you? Do you not understand when I say you came home wasted, reeking of alcohol? You’re not a kid anymore, Jason, stop acting like it. Take some goddamn responsibility for your shit.”

His hands ball into tight fists, his nails digging half moons into the soft part of his palms. The nausea rises with a vengeance and this time he can’t stop it. When he gets up, the chair scrapes hard on the floor, and his dad looks surprised for a second before Jason’s bent over the sink, throwing up. Not a whole lot comes out but he clings to the edges of the sink until he’s dry heaving and every breath is desperate. He’s exhausted by the time he’s done, coughing to get the residue up and spitting whatever’s left.

There’s a hand, heavy on his back, rubbing along his spine, up and down. His dad sighs loud enough for Jason to hear through the ringing between his ears. How disappointing he must be to his dad right now. It makes his eyes sting. He hangs his head, sniffs hard and feels something inside crumble when the hand leaves the comforting spot against him. The support feels ripped, taken away from him before he can latch onto it.

“Take some aspirins, drink some water and get ready. I’m dropping you off for your afternoon practice.”

His dad leaves him all alone and Jason doesn’t even know if he’s far away enough before he lets out a shuddering breath that threatens to overcome him. He won’t cry, alone in the kitchen at — whatever time it is — just because he’s suffering from a bad hangover. He can get over it. Aspirins, coffee, maybe a few crackers. His stomach immediately turns at the thought of it and he breathes in slowly, exhales slower still. Okay, so, no crackers. Coffee and aspirins though, that’s a must. Especially if he’s supposed to be running drills in a little over an hour.

The water washes off everything he spat out. He splashes cold water on his face, waits a little bit before he reaches out with a shaking hand to grab a mug. The coffee in the pot’s grown cold, but he’s too tired to heat it up. He chugs it down like that, black and bitter.

He’s not looking forward to practice.

* * *

There are important events that happen out in the world and important things that happen at school that don’t affect the world at all.

Ty starts dating Kimberly, like, officially. They look happy in the same way models look thin in magazines — a little airbrush, a lot of photoshop. It’s all fake. They’re probably fake - happy like most teenagers are. He’s pretty sure it won’t last but he wishes Ty the best since Ty won’t shut up about it during football practice.

The cafeteria starts serving meatloaf every Friday. Nobody likes it.

He gets grounded again, this time for almost getting a speed ticket. The officer that pulled him over is drinking buddies with his dad. Lucky him. Two weeks without television or videogames. He spends an extra hour at the gym so his dad doesn’t complain about him wasting time.

His step-mom buys a small aquarium for his room because his dad’s been hard on him lately. Jason accepts the gift graciously, if a little forced. At least he gets to pick the fish he wants. He chooses a handful of colorful little ones that swim from one side of the tank to the other, and a big fat one that barely moves. He names them all.

In what should be a miracle, but apparently isn’t, Angel Grove wins every football game of the season thanks to their star quarterback. Jason Scott becomes king of the school, even though it’s Ty who’s dating the queen. The metaphorical crown feels about as heavy as granite.

He gets a blowjob in the girl’s locker room from the head cheerleader of Montgomery High after they obliterate their team in the field. He tries to ask her out when they’re done, but she forgets about him as soon as she gets up. It breaks his heart but when he tells his friends she got on her knees before him, they congratulate him, calling it a small milestone.

Weeks after the game against Montgomery, he gets a girlfriend. It lasts half a month before they break it off. She tells her friends about how she conquered the heart of the town’s star quarterback but she knew she could do better. He hears all about it through the grapevine and tries hard not to think about it.

Jason lives in a bubble. He hates the bubble. He wants to take the biggest, sharpest tool he can find to stab and burst the bubble.

Football season ends. No more games, but their school gets a cool trophy. Jason walks by the glass case every day on his way to math class. He avoids looking at it as best he can. Practice doesn’t end, not for a while; it’s in preparation of the upcoming year, which is still months away. It’s stupid. They have more than enough time to slack off and pick it back up. The coach mentions scouts as soon as senior year starts and his dad echoes the words at home.

( _This is what you’ve worked for your entire life, Jay. You can do it._ )

Jason doesn’t want to play anymore.

It’s a monumental realization but it’s not one that comes out of nowhere. He’s pretty sure it has been building up for a while. One day he’s sweating under the unforgiving California sun, in the middle of the football field, and he thinks, ‘ _I’m done. I don’t want to do this anymore_.’ It’s weird how liberating it feels, because he’s sure if he tells anyone, those same words will condemn him for life.

What’s worse than throwing away all his potential?  

* * *

He stands on top of a hill overlooking Angel Grove on a Saturday morning, an hour or so before dawn. In two weeks he’ll be officially done with junior year. In a few months he’ll be a senior. He’s not looking forward to the last year of high school, even if he does want to get it over with. It’s a weird feeling. The sky slowly turns lighter, hints of pinks and orange peeking on the horizon. He kicks a rock by his foot and watches it roll down the hill.

When he turns, he sees a kid standing nearby, just a few feet away from him. Dark hair, dark eyes, wearing mostly black but not in a goth way. White t-shirt, black jacket. He looks good.

“You’re in my spot.”

“What?” He looks around, then down. “Seriously?”

The serious look on the guy’s face shatters completely. He grins. “Nah, man. Yanking your chain. Plenty of space, right?”

“Uh, right.”

He didn’t expect him to get closer, much less to stand right next to him. Something sparks in the guy’s face, like recognition, and Jason inwardly cringes. He’s done with the little fame football’s given him; being the city’s so-called golden boy is exhausting, especially when random strangers stop him to talk about a particular game. “Oh, hey. I know you.” Jason’s mouth closes into a thin line, bracing himself for it. “You’re that one dude from that party. With the pretty blue eyes.”

Well — not what he expected.

His face turns red faster than the crimson hues streaking across the sky. “I, uhm.” He takes a step back, letting out a nervous chuckle. “What party?”

And just like that, the guy’s face falls. It doesn’t last, just a second or two, far too quickly to be noticed had Jason not been openly staring at him, and then he laughs. It’s not the first time Jason’s thought of a man as attractive but it is the first time he’s considered laughter as a pleasant sound, something almost pretty to listen to. “I’m wounded, dude! How could you forget me?”

“I don’t, I .. do I know you?”

“Do you want to?”

It’s such a bad line, Jason can’t do anything else but stare. The red spreads all the way to his ears. He coughs to cover up a laugh. He can’t help the smile that stretches on his lips. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Dude, we kissed.”

Wait, what?

“I can’t believe you forgot me already. It’s only been, what, a few months?”

Jason’s brain is still lodged on the word ‘ _kissed_ ’. He’s pretty damn sure he’s never kissed a man before. Ever. No matter how drunk he could get. It has to be a lie. He’d remember for damn sure — right ? Yeah. Totally. That’s not the kind of thing you forget, no matter how wasted.

“Oh, I see. I see. You don’t remember it, do you?”

“No!” It comes out louder than it should, but a large part of him is freaking out. “No, I don’t. ‘Cause that didn’t happen.”

“Dude, it so did — maybe another kiss will make you remember?”

“What!”

Somewhere in the back of his head, there’s the unique sound of R2D2 shrieking to kingdom come.

“I said — ”

“I heard what you said the first time!”

To his credit, the guy makes no move. He just stands there, with an insufferable look on his face, grinning a little too much on the smug side. Both eyebrows go up. It’d be easy to push him away, but he’s not really doing anything — yet. Plus, as far as men go, he’s pretty attractive. For a first dude kiss, Jason could do so much worse. “So, is that a yes or a no?”

Jason hesitates and he can tell the guy takes it as a victory because he takes a step closer. If he says yes, will he kiss him? He never gets to find out; his phone goes off before the other guy can take a step closer and Jason answers it immediately. It’s his dad, which means it’s a conversation that’ll go for long. He pauses, the voice on the receiver loud enough that he can hear it even without pressing the phone against his ear, and gives the other man an apologetic look; mouths the word ‘ _sorry_ ’ before backing up and walking away. The last thing Jason sees of him is a shrug and a smile before he sits down where Jason had been standing just seconds ago.

Months later he finally finds out the guy’s name, even if he still doesn’t remember the supposed first kiss, or the party — Zack Taylor. As it turns out, black really is Zack’s color.

* * *

If he could, if he was brave enough, he’d pack a duffel bag with some clothes, turn on the ignition and drive away from Angel Grove. But he’s seventeen, a minor, and has, maybe, a little over one hundred dollars to his name from birthday envelopes sent to him by his grandparents. It’s not a lot, it’s certainly not enough to start up a new life somewhere else. His dad is always talking about how if he plays his cards right, he can escape their little fishing town but Jason’s sure running away isn’t what he meant.

So no, he can’t just pick up his keys and drive off until he runs out of gas.  

He sticks a cigarette between his lips and lights it up, sucking hard on it and releasing the smoke a few seconds later. The first time he tried it, he almost coughed out a lung. Now, it leaves a pleasant burn in his throat. He’s smoked a total of half a box of Marlboros because he sees the ads everywhere — and because his dad’s always forbidden cigarettes and smoking. It’s immature to harm his own health over the contempt that’s grown towards his dad but hey, nobody said he was a pro at making the best decisions.

He thinks that’s when it starts, the summer full of bad decisions, but the truth is that it started before that, sometime during junior year. ( Maybe even before that. ) If he ever stopped to trace back his footsteps, he wouldn't know when to stop.

Dr. Sawyer had him on a strict diet since August. A balanced sort of diet to help put on muscle and keep it. It didn’t stop him from eating pizza or burgers or just an insane amount of french fries when he was hanging out with his friends during the weekend, or after practice, or from drinking beer at every party he went to. He didn’t bother counting calories even if he did try to burn any excess with early jogs before school.

His dad broke the record of most time grounding him in one school year. Every time he got home stinking of beer, or whenever he got home past 2 AM. One time he skipped afternoon practice just for the Hell of it and got a whole month of no television and limited phone use.

The truth is that, when he should’ve been doing his best, he turned away and did his worst instead, always disguised as something else, like relaxing or because it was fun. In the name of personal freedom, he did things without much thought, acting before considering the possible consequences of it.

Hawkeye introduced Jason to his older brother, a college dropout who also happened to be an adrenaline junkie. It was Hawkeye’s brother, Sebastian, who showed Jason his way around an engine. Not enough to fix it if it broke down, but enough to not feel like a total idiot if he popped the hood. It was also Sebastian who drove them almost three hours away from Angel Grove, to a place where drivers gathered for some fun. Like a scene straight out of a movie; the music was loud, the cars lined up, glossy and clean even amidst all the dirt of the desert. Hawkeye was there for the girls, but Jason didn’t bother with that — there were plenty of girls back in Angel Grove — but the fast cars? The races? That was a thousand times more exciting.

“I can see it in your eyes. You want to try, huh? Got a little speed demon in you.”

Sebastian never mocked him for it. He encouraged it. Hawkeye didn’t like the speed, not in the way Jason did. So Sebastian took him under his wing and taught him a few tricks. He’d point out what drivers were doing wrong while they watched a few runs. Gave him enough pointers to start feeling bold.

Another near speed ticket a few weeks later made his dad yell at him yet again. Same old song, same chorus. Jason knew the words of it by now, had them carved on his chest, heavy with parental disappointment. A string of: _you’re wasting your life_ , and _what is wrong with you_ , with the occasional, _get your head out of your ass_. He kept quiet, nodding when he should, attempting to look repentant of getting caught.

Halfway through summer he finally gathered enough courage to try. Sebastian laughed, “Alright, golden boy, let’s see what you can do.” With his blessing, Jason felt braver than before. He’d heard what he’d needed to hear about it, now it was time to put it in practice.

A straight quarter mile, nothing fancy. Unlike the movies, there was no NOS involved. It was all about skill and Jason was a good driver. He had faith in himself.

It’s close, closer than he thought it’d be, but when he crosses the line, he feels like screaming, like crying, like how it used to feel whenever he scored a touchdown. It’s exhilarating. He gets almost three hundred dollars for winning. The money is a nice bonus, but the euphoria from winning beats it all.

“Dude, holy shit. Congratulations!” Sebastian’s grin is almost as big as Jason’s. “We gotta celebrate, Jay.”

So yeah, they kind of celebrate big. Girls, music, alcohol. Jason’s seventeen and for the first time in forever, he feels on top of the world. He is the master of his own damn destiny. He can do anything! — Except apparently, hold his liquor. He kind of needs to work on that.

Sebastian has been flirting with a girl for the past few hours and it seems to have finally paid off. He slaps Jason’s shoulder, winks at him and tells him he’ll be right back. Jason grins at him, because he’s drunk and giving him a thumbs up would be lame, and watches him walk away with his arm around the girl’s waist.

Someone leans against the car, right next to him, so close that their arms almost touch. Jason takes a sip of his beer, glances over. Good looking stranger, around his height, not as old as the rest of the people around him.

“Hi. Heard you won your first race today. Congrats.”

“Uh — yeah! I did.” The grin stays in place, except now it’s got a nervous edge to it. He might be intoxicated but he’s nowhere near blackout stage, so his confidence is still solid. “Thanks.”

“I’m Dylan.”

“Jason.”

Dylan’s smile is blinding. Pearly whites. Gorgeous green eyes. He’s so close to him that Jason can see peppered freckles all over his face. “You’re really cute, Jason.”

“Oh my God.” He laughs behind his can of beer, almost snorts against it.

“You like Transformers?” Dylan leans closer, and Jason can feel his face heat up.  

“Is that, is that seriously a pickup line?”

The guy laughs, leaning back. “No, though, you think it’d work if I used it as a pickup line?” He smiles. “I got a camaro just like the one in the movie.” Jason’s eyebrows shot up, intrigued. He’s always had a soft spot for the yellow Autobot. “Wanna see it?” He’s like seventy percent sure the guy means the actual car and not like, his dick, so Jason throws caution to the wind and goes with him.

Dylan’s car is beautiful. Jason openly stares at it. He runs his hands over the hood, wondering how fast it can go. Dylan opens the passenger door for him and there’s something he vaguely remembers about not getting in cars with strangers. He sits down, admiring the interior. The alcohol has quieted any and all warning bells so if he gets killed, at least it’d be inside a nice car. Dylan gets in but leaves his door open, turns on the engine and brings the radio to life.

It doesn’t take long for them to kiss.

Dylan tugs on his hair, tilts Jason’s head back and Jason can’t help the soft moan that escapes. “It worked,” he says between kisses.

“What worked?” Dylan pauses just enough to ask.

“Your Transformers pickup line.”

They both laugh, the sound somewhat muted when a rock song starts playing loudly in the background.

Sebastian’s waiting for him by the time Jason gets back to where he’d been. He’s grinning like an idiot, and Jason can relate; he’s pretty sure he looks almost as giddy as that. All he did was makeout with a stranger, but it was a really good-looking stranger. All in all, it was one of the best days of his life.

* * *

His dad comes back after a three day fishing trip and Jason ambushes him as soon as he steps inside the house. It’s a quiet Tuesday morning in the middle of summer. Pearl and his step-mom are out, so it’s kind of the perfect time. In hindsight, he probably should’ve waited until his dad got some decent sleep, but he’d woken up with his mind made so there was no turning back.

He was finally ready to tell his dad he was quitting the football team.

“Thought you’d still be sleeping.” There’s that hint of the disapproving tone his dad has been using lately, but Jason ignores it. He follows him into the kitchen, watches him open the fridge to look for something cold to drink.

“Dad, I need to tell you something.” His dad grunts in acknowledgement but doesn’t turn to look at him, and for a second, Jason hesitates. He’s about to poke the meanest bear he knows. “It’s .. kind of important.” He shifts his weight, hands closing and opening, palms sweaty. The fridge’s door slams close and he swallows thickly, more nervous than he was just seconds ago.

“Well? What is it?”

“I — ” The smell of fish is strong, more so because they’re standing so close together. Their metaphorical gap has never felt wider, the chasm between them too big to bridge over, but their relative proximity makes him take a step back. It’s not enough; he feels his resolve break away, little by little, with the exasperated look his dad gives him.

He’s grasping at straws, trying to figure out what happened between them. What went wrong?

Jason used to go on fishing trips with his dad, but he can’t remember the last time they went together. It might’ve been during freshman year, but he’s only got one year left of high school and the entire thing is kind of a blur. Parties, homework, football games; it’s all a jumbled mess.

( He misses his dad, the one that would take him camping or fishing or would let him sit on broad shoulders to watch a baseball game. It all feels like decades ago. )

His hesitance seems to be too much for the older Scott, because he turns away, muttering something under his breath. Jason stares at his dad’s back, feeling insignificant.

He did this. How? He isn’t sure, but he knows this is the one bridge he’s progressively been burning into a crisp. Nothing left but ashes now. His courage is gone, the words lodged in the back of his throat; he opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

His dad grabs a water bottle and walks out of the kitchen without another word. It’s not the first time Jason’s been left alone, but it’s the first time it hurts so much. He feels rocks in the pit of his stomach and a terrible pressure on his chest that won’t go away.

* * *

In one month, Jason will go back to school. Senior year is both a blessing and a curse. He wants to be done with high school but the future looms threateningly on the horizon, mocking him with endless possibilities. His dad’s been talking nonstop about getting scouts to see his first game of the season.

_This is everything you’ve worked for. Don’t screw it up, Jason._

That night, he hangs out with his two closest friends and over a few cans of beer, tells them about this amazing prank he’s been planning for a while. It’ll be epic, like nothing any senior has ever done before. Better than last year’s senior prank with the toilet paper. This is going to be the one prank that’ll have people talking for months.

They’re going to need some hay.


End file.
